


Every Story Must Grow Old

by orphan_account



Category: Lost Girl
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-03-05
Packaged: 2017-12-04 09:34:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/709260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Bo is severely injured Lauren must make a choice that might just break her heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Story Must Grow Old

 

_Maybe you were the ocean when I was just a stone -_ Ben Howard

* * *

When Bo comes home, the candles are lit; the smell of rosemary basted pot roast fills the room, the fancy sound-system that Kenzi’s cousin “acquired” is throbbing with soft, guitar strings, Kenzi herself is out drinking and kicking Hale’s ass at pool and everything is perfect. Except for the fact that when Bo comes home it’s with a 6-inch gash in her side and a sticky trail of blood in her wake.

“Bo, oh my god!” Lauren’s not very articulate when she’s scared shitless, but she _is_ efficient. Within seconds, she has Bo down on that ratty old couch, her eyes desperately moving over the wound, assessing the damage. It’s bleeding profusely and Lauren, for all her training, for all her calm suddenly feels ill at the sight of all that warm, red liquid oozing through her fingers as she applies pressure.  

“I – it came out of nowhere,” Bo murmurs, before her eyelids flicker for a few seconds and eventually close. Hands bloody and heart pounding, Lauren immediately weighs up her options. She could stitch up the wound, but that would take time and Bo is already pale from blood loss. She could call emergency services, but by the time they got there it would almost definitely be too late…not to mention the whole, “oh my girlfriend’s a succubus, so conventional treatment may not work on her” conversation she would inevitably need to have. There is no time. No time for emotions or feelings or that gnawing insecurity that tells her she’s insane for pulling Bo’s cell phone out of her ripped pocket and pushing “3” on speed-dial.

She doesn’t look. Once he’ there, gently coaxing Bo into consciousness, tenderly stroking her cheek, willing Bo to open her eyes, willing her to feed, Lauren steps outside, into the cold night air that smells of car fumes and fast-food. She doesn’t want to watch Dyson touch her girlfriend. She doesn’t want to see their desperate coupling, or how he heals her. She doesn’t want to see him do the one thing that she can’t. So she steps outside and breathes deeply, fighting back the nausea that claws its way up her throat and threatens to have her empty her stomach on the sidewalk.

There’s blood on her hands, on her top, on her pants. Bo’s blood. She thinks of the places Dyson will get blood and then she’s retching. It’s mostly foul-tasting bile because she’s barely eaten since that morning. She feels weak and pathetic and decidedly _human_. It’s ridiculous really. She’s performed triage in the most violent of conditions, seen things that no human or empathetic  fae should ever see, made decisions that still haunt her and yet she’s never, never been quite this… _affected._ Lauren doesn’t do failure well. Giving up is not an option. She lost five years of her life because she refused to give up Nadia. And that had turned out…well, the way it turned out. She leans back against the cold, rough brick wall and closes her eyes, enveloped by the sounds of the frosty fall evening. Sirens screeching, cats yowling, vagrants yelling and if she really listens, she’s sure she can hear the distinctive sounds of a succubus just reaching orgasm. It’s as though something inside of her breaks. The months of spidery cracks that have slowly been creeping through her insides finally shatter and she is undone. Lauren sobs the way she hasn’t sobbed since she was nine years old and her Aunt Laurie fetched her from school to tell her about her mother’s accident. She sobs for herself who will never be quite enough and for Bo, who tries so hard to be what everyone needs and even for Dyson, who will never quite have what he wants. She sobs until her ribs hurt and her throat feels scratchy. And by the time she’s done, those cracked pieces have floated away in those salty tears, never to return.

It feels like hours later when Dyson comes down. If he notices her red rimmed eyes and streaked mascara, he says nothing. She expects him to give her a status update and leave as quickly as he came in, but he stands here, leaning against that wall of hers, the arm of his leather jacket just barely brushing her shoulder.

“It’s cold out,” he says in a low voice that simultaneously soothes and grates on her nerves.

“I’m okay.” Her tone is clipped, her voice rough. She doesn’t understand how he can talk to her, now of all times.

“Are you?” He doesn’t turn to look at her, choosing instead to fix his gaze on the heavy, round moon, half-hidden between clouds. She wonders if he’s fighting he urge to howl at it.

_I’m fine. Never been better. Just dandy._ These are the things she wants to say. Anything to get him away from her. Anything to stop seeing Bo’s copper blood under his fingernails. They have this in common. It’s almost laughable. Almost.

But she doesn’t say these things. She surprises them both with her soft, “I don’t know if I’m okay.” The admission dangles in the space between them before it’s pushed out into the night, along with her pride.

 “She was asking for you,” Dyson finally says and she notices how tied he sounds. No, not tired, _weary_. “Even before we-” he sighs and finally turns to look down at her. She was barely conscious and she was asking for you.”

Lauren doesn’t know what to say or how to say it. How do you tell the man who’s just fucked your girlfriend that you’re grateful to him for trying to make you feel better? Instead she asks, “How is she now?”

“Healed,” he says. “She was sleeping when I left. She thought you had gone. I think she was afraid that it was too much for you.”

“Sometimes it is,” she says so quietly she wonders if the thought made it past her lips.

“And yet you stayed.” There’s a strange kind of resignation in Dyson’s eyes that might just be respect.

 “I should check on her.”

Dyson clears his throat as if to say something, but then just zips up his jacket and gives her a parting nod.

“Dyson,” she doesn’t even realise she’s holding onto the sleeve of his jacket until he turns back to look at her. “Thank you,” she says simply.

And then he’s gone, the roar of his motorbike just another sound in the cold night air.

Bo is not sleeping when she creeps into the warm bedroom. Her eyes automatically search the sheets for blood and find none.

“He wasn’t in here.” Bo’s voice is startling in the darkness. “We didn’t…not in here.” Lauren fumbles for the switch, preoccupied with the thought of seeing Bo alive and healthy and not bleeding.

She’s sitting up against the pillows, and Lauren can’t tell whether she’s naked under the sheets or not. But suddenly, it doesn’t matter, none of it matters, because Bo is here and alive and not bleeding and Lauren knows that she would suffer any evil to keep her that way.

“I’m just glad you’re okay.” She attempts to smile, but maybe it’s too early for that because suddenly she’s crying, except it’s not like before when it felt closer to dying than crying. This is more of an exodus of tension. And then Bo’s on her knees, pulling her onto the bed and into her arms.

“It’s okay, it’s all okay now,” Bo murmurs into her hair. And the light kisses on her temple and hairline seem to be working because Lauren’s only sniffling now and her breathing’s gone down to normal. She resolves to give her lacriminal system a break when this is all over. It feels like forever before Bo eventually says, “I’m sorry I ruined everything. The dinner, the candles...”

Lauren’s head whiplashes up and misses Bo’s chin by half an inch. “I don’t care about any of that,” she says fiercely, annoyed that her voice is still trembling. She sits up, so that she’s facing Bo, her gaze steady and intense. “All I care about is this.” She splays her palm flat against Bo’s chest, taking immeasurable comfort in the strong thudding beat beneath her hand. “All I care about is keeping this safe.”

Bo swallows before saying. “It’s yours, you know.” She puts her hand over Lauren’s, entwining their fingers. “It will _always_ be yours.”

Lauren knows what she’s saying. She knows what Bo is promising. And for the first time in a very long time, it feels like enough. She feels like enough.

“Happy anniversary,” Bo whispers softly.

“Happy anniversary,” Lauren replies, smiling for the first time in what feels like days.

**END**

 

 


End file.
